"Yes, and you like money so much?"

Her eyes flashed a little defiantly as she looked me in the face. "It is
everything to me."

She paused as if to see the effect upon me, or to get an artificial
(I knew it was artificial) strength to go on, then she added: "I love
money. I work for it; I would bear all for it--all that a woman could
bear. I--" But here she paused again, and, though the eyes still
flashed, the lips quivered. Hers was not the face of cupidity. It was
sensitive, yet firm, as with some purpose deep as her nature was by
creation and experience, and always deepening that nature. I suddenly
got the conviction that this girl had a sorrow of some kind in her life,
and that this unreal affection for money was connected with it. Perhaps
she saw my look of interest, for she hurriedly continued: "But, pardon
me, I am foolish. I shall be better when the pain is gone. Madame is
kind; she will let me sleep this afternoon, perhaps."

I handed her the medicine, and then asked: "How long have you known Mrs.
Falchion, Miss Caron?"

"Only one year."

"Where did you join her?"

"In Australia."

"In Australia? You lived there?"

"No, monsieur, I did not live there."